


To Challenge the Stars

by Eliyes



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-26
Updated: 2013-09-26
Packaged: 2017-12-27 17:21:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/981589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eliyes/pseuds/Eliyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bobby encourages Jean-Paul to take a chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Challenge the Stars

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally posted on Livejournal October 15, 2007.

"Jean-Paul, have you ever been to Paris?"

Bobby's voice was startling in the quiet of the Blackbird's passenger compartment, though he hadn't even spoken loud enough to wake Nightcrawler, dozing in a near seat. Perhaps Jean-Paul had been dozing himself; he did not remember Bobby taking the seat next to his. Glancing sideways, he discovered that Bobby was gazing straight ahead, a faraway look in his eyes.

"You assume, because I speak French, that I have been to France?" he asked, raising one eyebrow in rebuke. Bobby's lips turned up at the corners, and his gaze slid towards Jean-Paul, focusing on him before deliberately looking away.

"No," he answered, making a long, slow sigh of the word. He settled himself into a different position, slinging his right arm -- the arm closest to Jean-Paul -- over the back of his seat and shifting his legs so that his entire body turned towards him. His arm wasn't behind Jean-Paul, but the edge of his wrist brushed Jean-Paul's shoulder, so that Jean-Paul, in turn, had to firmly stamp down an adolescent burst of excitement. He was glad his uniform so thoroughly covered his body; it hid the goosebumps that rose on his flesh at the merest accidental caress from Bobby, and he'd long since given up pretending it had anything to do with mutant powers.

"More that you've been a celebrity on the international scale," Bobby said. "A recognised dignitary of your country." He flicked a glance at Jean-Paul. "You've traveled without needing a foe waiting to be fought at your destination, more than I have."

"I am a man of the world," Jean-Paul supplied dryly.

"Essentially," Bobby agreed, lifting his shoulders in a slight shrug that bumped his wrist again against Jean-Paul.

"I have been to Paris, yes," he admitted. "Why?"

"Have you ever been to the Père Lachaise Cemetery?" Bobby asked, speaking the French name carefully and correctly.

"Yes," Jean-Paul answered immediately, surprised. "A long time ago."

It had been summer, he remembered. There had been fresh-cut flowers on the polished black slab marking Proust's grave, and fresh lipstick kisses on the sculpted angel honouring Oscar Wilde. There had also been a used condom tucked behind Jim Morrison's headstone, and Jean-Paul had a sudden horrible suspicion that Bobby was going to take this conversation somehow in that direction. He sincerely hoped not -- he'd never liked The Doors.

"Why?" he asked again.

Bobby was silent for a moment. Jean-Paul watched him turn his head to look at Nightcrawler, whose head was lolling to the side, mouth open in sleep. Jean-Paul watched him swallow, and was not at all prepared to be caught staring when Bobby met his eyes.

"About a month before you joined us, someone I loved was buried there," he said quietly. Jean-Paul made an involuntary noise of surprise; he had always thought of it as a place where famous people were buried, not a real cemetery where people he knew might inter loved ones.

"Her name was Laynia," Bobby continued. "Laynia Petrovna. Her _nom de guerre_ was Darkstar." He paused, swallowing again, and Jean-Paul had the inane thought that he rather liked hearing Bobby speak French.

"An ex-girlfriend?" he found himself asking.

"No. We were never -- I would have liked -- " Bobby took a deep breath, to steady himself, Jean-Paul thought, noting shadow-fan of eyelashes on Bobby's face and the way his left hand was clenched in a fist against his thigh. He watched Bobby let out that same breath, obviously trying to relax and only partly succeeding.

"She liked me as a friend," he said, once again somehow drawing Jean-Paul's gaze up to meet his eyes. "I was in love with her and wanted more, thought she liked me more than she'd say, but she -- she'd recently been widowed..." Bobby looked away, and some part of Jean-Paul mentally filed away his profile, the snapshot of this moment of confession, even as he wondered why Bobby was telling him this.

"It's possible I drove her away, coming on too strong," Bobby said. "It's even likely." He smiled a quick, sad smile, eyes flicking to Jean-Paul and away again. He chuckled. "This was years ago, and I -- well, it was years yet before I learned to stop wearing my heart on my sleeve. If I have."

Jean-Paul spent entirely more time that was healthy thinking about Bobby, generally. He found him impulsive, emotionally expressive and extroverted. He'd heard the older X-Men refer to him (fondly) as a 'class clown', even though he'd long since graduated. Jean-Paul had thought chatty, funny Bobby _did_ wear his heart on his sleeve, and for a moment he couldn't conceive of what he'd be like if he were _more_ open. But then suddenly, he could -- Bobby would not be the first person he'd known to use humour as a shield.

He realised he hadn't said anything, instead staring at Bobby while lost in these thoughts. He felt prickles of heat along his cheekbones and the tips of his ears, flushing with embarrassment, but still didn't know what to say. It was not the first time he'd found himself tongue-tied in Bobby's presence, but it was surely one of the more annoying. Fortunately, Bobby spoke, lips quirking a little to the left with a touch more amusement than his smile had previously held.

"So, even though nothing happened and she broke my heart when she went -- " he began lightly.

" -- You still loved her," Jean-Paul filled in. Bobby nodded, and Jean-Paul offered a sympathetic murmur.

"The thing is, I don't regret trying," Bobby told him. "Maybe if I could have accepted just friendship she would have stayed. But I couldn't, not really. I would have been just as miserable, only in a different way."

Jean-Paul felt himself nodding. Well he knew the pain of hiding his feelings from a dear friend --

The thought froze in his mind, as his eyes widened. Bobby was watching him and looked somehow more satisfied as Jean-Paul's mind whirled. He couldn't mean --

"If I hadn't tried," Bobby told him, "I would have always regretted it. I would have wondered..."

Jean-Paul opened his mouth, not sure what exactly he would say, but feeling his heart speeding in his chest as Bobby _looked_ at him, body language receptive and attentive.

He took a breath to speak.


End file.
